


Hunger Pains

by Dedicate Kiwicrocus (cranky__crocus)



Series: SMACKDOWN '11 Round Two - Team Discipline [27]
Category: Emelan - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Gen, Goldenlake, smackdown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-02
Updated: 2011-06-02
Packaged: 2017-10-20 00:42:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/206990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cranky__crocus/pseuds/Dedicate%20Kiwicrocus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paraskeve’s stomach growled like an angry watch-dog; she latched her hands over it and sighed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hunger Pains

**Author's Note:**

> Written for SMACKDOWN at Goldenlake: fiefgoldenlake.proboards.com

Paraskeve’s stomach growled like an angry watch-dog; she latched her hands over it and sighed. “Must we _really_ fast as preparation for our vows?”

            “Yes. Maybe you wouldn’t be so hungry if you hadn’t turned cartwheels this morning.” Niva turned the page in her notes. Her stomach rumbled as well and she groaned. “Hush, you!”

            “Maybe _yours_ wouldn’t be so loud if you gave up on studying.” Paraskeve reclined against the tree outside of old run-down Discipline Cottage, where they were whiling away their last full day as novices. The Earth-Temple Dedication Service was the next evening.

            “What if I forget a word?” Niva snapped, glaring up for only a second before her gaze shot straight back down to the words.

            “Then Green Man will strike you where you stand.” Paras grinned, white teeth blazing. “You’re not fit to work for the gods if you can’t remember a preposition or two, surely.”

            Niva grunted and refused to look up. “You’ve hardly studied it at all. If you’re so confident, say it now!”

            Paraskeve rattled off her vows and responses at an astonishing rate, never once missing a word. Niva stared at her, mouth agape and eyes wide. “How did you…?”

            “My performing troupe included a clan of stage-actors. They taught me to memorise lines real quick.” Paras’ eyebrows rose over her smile. “But I have some tricks, if you’d like.”

            “Oh, alright,” Niva sighed out, acquiescing. She shook her head and laughed as Paras plopped down beside her and inspected her notes.

            “See there? You’ve bolded some words—but try thinking them as phrases, of things that are meant to be together instead of single units—”

            They both gave up later, when their stomachs growled louder than they spoke. The two settled on cloud-watching—which reminded Paraskeve of cotton—or tree-watching: spotting shapes in the crossing of branches and the arrangement of leaves. Most of the shapes, they decided, were very clearly food.

 

 

Two decades later, when soon-to-be Dedicate Briarmoss whinged about his voraciously empty and vocally equipped stomach, Lark and Rosethorn laughed. He glowered at them both.

            “Unbearable! I haven’t been this hungry since the streets of Hajra!” He poked his stomach and it answered back with a gurgle. “Why would they force this?”

            Lark and Rosethorn grinned to each other. Rosethorn turned her toothy grin to Briar. “It proves you’re dedicated, boy.”

            “And that there will be someone there on the other side, ready to nourish you,” Lark replied, placing an arm over Rosie’s shoulder. Lark’s smile was tender enough that Rosethorn actually blushed. “A family.”

            “Better be a family—a family of chicken and pheasant and beef and pork and—” His stomach pierced his words.

Rosethorn and Lark lost themselves to laughter, pounding their thighs and hooting.

            “Honestly,” Briar grumbled, “You two are no help at all.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! C:


End file.
